


every inch of me is holding on

by starrydrowse



Series: like the love that discovered the sin [2]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barebacking, Bladder Control, Choking, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Watersports, a good bit of kink negotiation actually, i am physically incapable of writing anything that isn’t at least a little bit soft, in this house we stan safe sane and consensual sex, the piss stuff is really drawn out because i can’t help myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 06:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrydrowse/pseuds/starrydrowse
Summary: Brian is always so gentle, almost timid, like he’s holding himself back— he never pushes too hard, stepping back and letting Roger take the reins and decide for himself how long to hold it, when to let it go, as if he thinks the second he asks for more Roger might change his mind and abandon the whole thing.But Roger wants more— so much more.*Or, Brian and Roger decide to try something new.





	every inch of me is holding on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peachydeacon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachydeacon/gifts).

> what is up my dudes i am FINALLY back with some more piss content because i’m a whore and i can’t help myself
> 
> this is a follow-up to my other fic ‘let the new day shine its light on me,’ but it isn’t really necessary to read that one first (although this will probably make more sense if you’ve read the last one). this has been half finished in my drafts for genuinely about three months now so i’m so pumped to finally get it posted!! shoutout to my sweet friend finn (get-on-your-bikes-and-ride) for helping me out and motivating me to finally finish this thing and for talking about piss with me, ilysm ♡
> 
> that all being said, i have even less of an excuse for this than the last fic. this is literally just 9k of roger pissing himself so if that’s not ur thing then this probably isn’t for you but if it is ur thing then hello welcome i hope u enjoy this absolute filth!!
> 
> (title is taken from the song ‘wildfire’ by seafret)

They ease into it slowly.

It starts as something confined to the shower; only ever indulged when they’re alone in the flat, already naked and wet, with the spray of the shower to wash the evidence away. Roger will stand there under the spray and cross his legs, pressing his thighs together and grabbing at his dick until he’s pissing himself, breathing hard as it streams down his legs, burning up under Brian’s heavy gaze. Each time it ends with Brian pinning him to the wall of the shower, biting at his skin and fucking him so hard he nearly forgets how to breathe.

It’s Brian who first suggests doing it fully dressed. He’s blushing heavily and refusing to meet Roger’s eyes as he stammers through it, playing with his fingers as he works up the courage to ask for what he wants. All of his worry is for nothing, though, because Roger is almost embarrassingly eager when he nods quickly and says _yes, please, lets try it._ Still, they keep it contained to the shower, meticulously planning around their laundry schedule and when they’ll have the flat to themselves, and it’s only very rarely that the stars align. The wait is more than worth it, Roger thinks, when he’s standing in the bathtub, squirming with his hands between his legs while Brian leans back against the sink, watching him with dark eyes and an obscene bulge straining against his trousers.

It feels almost addictingly naughty when Roger finally lets go, when he first feels his pants getting warm and wet around his cock, and he gasps as the wetness soaks into the light fabric of his jeans, seeping down his thighs and staining them dark. It’s louder than he expected, without the spray of the shower to drown it out, and it clatters onto the floor of the tub and makes his cheeks burn as he pisses himself. Brian is on him the second he’s finished, kissing him so hard it’s probably bruising, and he can barely get his hand on Roger’s crotch quickly enough to palm him through his wet trousers before Roger is coming with a choked gasp of Brian’s name. In thanks, Roger sinks to his knees and takes Brian’s cock into his mouth, swallowing around him as Brian babbles praise and threads his fingers through Roger’s hair until he’s coming down his throat.

It seems like the natural progression of things then, when Roger finally works up the courage to ask if Brian wants to take it further.

Brian is always so gentle, almost timid, like he’s holding himself back— he never pushes too hard, stepping back and letting Roger take the reins and decide for himself how long to hold it, when to let it go, as if he thinks the second he asks for more Roger might change his mind and abandon the whole thing. But Roger wants more— so much more— and when he finally asks, almost too casually, over breakfast one Friday morning if Brian has ever heard of bladder control, Brian coughs loudly into his tea, his cheeks immediately flushing pink.

“That a yes?” Roger asks with a lazy sort of grin.

“You can’t just say stuff like that with no warning Rog,” Brian hisses, ignoring his question, pushing his hair back from his face the way he does when he’s flustered. “John and Freddie are just down the hall, you know that do you?”

Roger raises an eyebrow. “Something tells me they might be a little preoccupied at the moment,” he says, the corner of his lips turning up in a smirk.

Brian blushes a deeper shade of red as he finally picks up on the muffled moans floating down the hallway from behind John and Freddie’s door.

“So you’ve heard of it then?” Roger asks again, and after an exasperated sigh and a long pause, Brian nods.

Roger grins at him. “You wanna try it?”

Brian’s eyes go a little wider. “You wanna try bladder control?” he asks, almost incredulously.

Roger shrugs easily. “Could be fun,” he says, but Brian just looks at him. “You seem surprised.”

“No, no, I was just…” Brian scratches at an old water stain on the table. “A little taken aback, I suppose.”

“Definition of surprised.”

Brian rolls his eyes. “I dunno, I just wasn’t expecting… I didn’t know you’d been thinking much about that kind of stuff at all, to be honest. I guess I sort of thought you were doing it mostly to indulge me.” He laughs, a little awkwardly.

Roger gives him a slightly exasperated smile. “I mean, maybe at the beginning... but— _christ_ Bri, have you not noticed how bloody hard I get every time you even bring it up? I’m clearly into it.”

“Are you saying you're hard now?” 

It’s a joke, but Roger doesn’t miss a beat before answering, “Yes, and I hope you know you’ll have to deal with that before we leave for practice, so we’d better hurry up and get to the point.”

Brian’s head falls forward as he laughs.

“So you’re game?” Roger asks hopefully.

“I...” Brian trails off, taking a moment to think about it. “What exactly would it involve?”

Roger grabs a slice of Brian’s toast, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully before he says “Whatever we want it to, I suppose. You’d get to control how much I drink and when, how long I have to hold it, and when and where I get to go to the toilet— if I get to go at all.” Roger looks down at his nails. “You could make me hold it until I just can’t anymore, make me wet myself and make a mess of my clothes…” There’s a red flush starting to creep down Brian’s neck, and Roger’s lips quirk up into a smirk. “What do you think Bri? You wanna try it?”

Brian has to swallow heavily before he can answer. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, let’s give it a go.”

Roger smiles widely. He takes another bite of Brian’s toast before saying, “I’ve also been thinking— why don’t we try it somewhere other than the loo?”

Brian frowns behind his tea, swallowing and setting his mug back on the table. “That’ll leave a huge mess Rog, I dunno… it’d be hard to clean up, no? And John and Freddie could find out...”

Roger hums. “Not if we do it on the bed.”

“And ruin the mattress?”

“You can buy mattress protectors that are waterproof. I’ve already looked, they sell them at Asda.”

Brian raises an eyebrow at him. “Been planning this for a while Rog?”

Roger feels the tips of his ears go warm, but he just shrugs easily. “What do you think? Could be more fun, yeah?”

Brian has to admit it would certainly be more comfortable than watching from across the bathroom— getting to touch Roger, watching him up close as he makes a mess of their bed sheets. He finds himself wondering what would it look like seeping into the sheets, spreading out around Roger as he pisses himself, and he feels a jolt of heat rush through him as he suddenly wonders— how would it feel on _him_? How would the warmth feel against his skin, what would it be like to feel the wetness clinging to his own clothes as Roger pisses all over them both?

He finds himself nodding quickly and saying, a little breathy, “Alright, yeah. Yes, let’s do it.”

Rogers stomach flips and his heart beats a little faster in his chest. He nudges Brian’s leg under the table with his foot and says, “Freddie and John are going to visit John’s mum next weekend. They’re leaving Saturday morning and they won’t be back til Monday.”

“And you’re absolutely sure they’ll both be gone this time?”

“That wasn’t my fault!” Roger protests. “Deaky specifically told me they’d both be out! S’not my fault he changed his mind.”

Brian just rolls his eyes, smiling that wide, off-kilter sort of smile that always makes something warm bloom inside Roger’s chest. “So next Saturday then?”

Roger nods. “Next Saturday. Now, hurry up and finish your tea. This—” he gestures to his lap, where his dick is straining rather obscenely against his pyjama bottoms, “isn’t gonna take care of itself.”

Brian laughs, but he quickly swallows the last few mouthfuls and lets Roger drag him into their bedroom, locking the door behind them.

— 

The week passes quickly.

They’re all busy; they’re recording their first album in a little over a month, which means that they’re in and out of the practice rooms every day to rehearse, starting at 8 in the morning and finishing whenever somebody has to leave for work. Now that it’s summer and they don’t have coursework to worry about, they’ve all picked up extra shifts to save up for the studio time. Roger and Freddie often work the same afternoon shifts at the record shop down the road, while Brian spends his evenings at the animal shelter, usually returning with more than a few scratches and bandages on his forearms. John trudges home a little past midnight most nights from his job at the café just off campus, making their entire flat perpetually smell like coffee beans, no matter how many candles Freddie lights.

It’s exhausting, the routine they’ve settled into, but Roger finds himself grateful for the distraction. The nervous sort of excitement that’s been thrumming just under his skin since that Friday morning never quite goes away— in fact, it only seems to get stronger as the days pass and next Saturday draws closer— but their busy schedule helps to take his mind off of it, at least for a few hours at a time. Still, when he finds himself with a few spare minutes, his mind always seems to wander back to it, the anticipation never failing to leave him restless and uncomfortably hard.

When the day finally comes, Roger finds himself waking much earlier than he’d intended. The sky outside his open bedroom window is dark blue, tinged pale just on the edges, and he tosses and turns for a few minutes before he sighs up at the ceiling, accepting that he’s not getting back to sleep. He throws the blankets off himself, careful not to disturb Brian’s sleeping figure beside him, snatching his cigarettes and a lighter before stepping out onto the fire escape. The air outside is still cool and crisp and peacefully empty, almost unnervingly quiet without the sounds of traffic and chatter rising up from the street below. He shivers when he sinks down onto the cold metal, lighting a cig and taking a long drag. He lets the smoke fill his lungs and then breathes it out slowly, tipping his head back against the brick wall of the building and staring up at the sky. It’s clouded over, no stars in sight.

He feels almost jittery with the anticipation and the nicotine does nothing to calm it, not even when he’s putting out the third butt in the ashtray. He feels a twinge in his bladder and he wonders if he should go, or if he should wait for Brian; they hadn’t really decided when they were going to start, and Roger isn’t keen on the idea of accidentally disrupting Brian’s plans, so he sits and lets his need grow as he watches the city wake up, the sky gradually getting brighter until the sun breaks through just a little on the horizon, runners and early morning shift-ers slowly beginning to trickle out onto the streets.

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there when Brian quietly steps out of the window to join him, settling beside him and stretching out the blanket he’s got wrapped around himself to drape it over Roger’s shoulders as well. Roger hums, grateful for the heat, burrowing closer into Brian’s side.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Brian’s voice is low and a little hoarse, and Roger feels something light up like a struck match deep between his hips.

He nods. Brian idly rubs his thumb over his wrist and his open palm as he looks out onto the street below them, and the ache in Roger’s bladder is a constant pressure now. He wonders if he should bring it up, if he should ask, but he’s stopped when he suddenly considers— is it possible that maybe Brian’s forgotten? Or maybe he’s changed his mind and he’s intentionally avoiding the topic in the hopes that Roger will just forget all about it and move on, but after a long moment Brian clears his throat and says carefully “Is— do you still want to do it today?”

Roger nods quickly, looking up at him, a little apprehensive. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Brian says immediately, and that fire between Roger’s hips burns a little brighter.

“When should we start?” Roger asks, watching a cyclist move quickly through the street, stories below them.

Brian seems to consider it for a moment. “Have you been to the toilet yet this morning?”

Roger shakes his head. “I wasn’t sure if I was allowed.”

Brian’s breath hitches so quietly Roger is surprised he can hear it, and when he looks up Brian’s pupils are already blown. He kisses Roger then; a quick, chaste sort of thing that still makes Roger sigh against his lips. “You’re so good, Rog,” Brian says in that same syrupy sort of voice, and Roger shivers.

“We’ll start after John and Freddie leave, yeah?” Brian says after a moment. “So you can— um. You can go now this morning, and we’ll start after?” Brian is trying his best to sound confident and self-assured, but Roger’s known him for a long time, knows him better than maybe anybody else, and the anxiety he sees behind his eyes makes him take Brian’s hand in his and squeeze it tight.

“We don’t have to,” he says softly. “If you don’t want to, or you’re not ready…”

“No,” Brian says quickly. “No, no I want to. I’m just…” Roger rubs circles on Brian’s palm with his thumb, giving him time to gather his thoughts. “Nervous,” Brian says finally. “I don’t want to do anything wrong, or push you too far or hurt you—” he breaks off and catches his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I trust you,” Roger says, immediately and honestly. “And I mean… it’s no different from the other things we do when I sub, really,” he says carefully. “Like when you tie me up, or gag me, or make me call you sir... it really isn’t any different, you know?”

Brian chews on his lip, looking down onto the street as he thinks.

“I trust you,” Roger says again. “and I know you won’t go too far. But we’ll use the traffic lights, yeah? You can check in if you’re not sure, and if it’s too much, you know I’ll safeword. And I know you will too, if you need to.”

A moment later, Brian nods, and his shoulders relax a little as he leans his head against Rogers. His unruly curls tickle Roger’s forehead. “You’re right,” he says finally, and Roger grins.

“As usual,” he teases. Brian swats at him with his free hand but he laughs, letting Roger lean further into his side. Brian’s hand leaves his as he instead slings his arm over his shoulder to hold him close, and Roger sighs as he lets his eyes close.

He could almost fall asleep there, he thinks; even with the now near-constant pressure on his bladder, the cold metal of the fire escape under him, the chilly early-morning air on his skin. Brian emits heat like a furnace, and he’s warm and solid against Roger’s side, his chest slowly rising and falling as he breathes. He smells like watermelon shampoo mixed with something distinctly Brian, and Roger lets it fill his chest and calm his nerves as he breathes him in.

—

The rest of the morning goes by quickly. 

They head back inside soon after, when they feel the first cold drops of rain against their skin, and Roger goes to relieve himself. After he’s washed his hands, he takes a moment to stare himself down in the mirror. Truth be told, he’s been half hard since he woke up, and it only becomes more persistent as he thinks to himself that this is the last time he’ll be using the toilet for a long while. He feels almost dizzy for a moment as he thinks of the endless possibilities for the day, and for a second he considers jerking off, if only to ease some of the energy thrumming under his skin. But Freddie is waiting to get into the loo to shower, so instead he splashes some cold water in his face and brushes his teeth, readjusting to make sure his semi isn’t obvious before going to join John and Brian in the kitchen, Freddie slipping into the loo behind him and starting the shower.

Brian looks up when Roger steps into the kitchen, giving him a soft smile and curling his fingers around his tea. There’s a mug and tea bag already laid out for Roger on the counter, and he gives Brian a quick kiss on the cheek in thanks before picking up the kettle.

John is curled up in the chair across from Brian looking very much half asleep, his hair messy and his feet pulled up under him, a fleece blanket thrown over his shoulders. “There’s eggs if you want them,” he says in that slow, tired morning voice of his. “Freddie made extra.”

Roger’s eyes flick down to John’s own plate on the table in front of him. It looks barely touched. “Freddie made them?”

John nods.

Roger nods then too, slowly. “I’m alright, I think.”

“That’s probably wise.”

Brian stifles a laugh as Roger pulls up a chair beside him, tea in hand.

—

Freddie doesn’t take nearly as long to get ready as they all expected, and it isn’t long before Roger is standing by the door, watching them shrug on their coats.

“Sure you’ve got everything?” Brian asks from the couch.

John nods, patting down his pockets a final time to make sure he has his wallet, his phone, and the keys to the van.

“Careful in the rain,” Roger reminds them for the sixth time, “and don’t forget to text to let us know where you are.”

“Yes mum,” Freddie teases, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

Roger frowns. “I’m serious Fred.”

Freddie smiles and comes over to smack a kiss to his forehead. “Of course darling, we will.”

Roger smiles and pulls him in for a quick hug, and then John.

“Have a fun weekend!” Brian calls as John opens the door. “Say hi to your mum for us!”

“Don’t miss us too much,” John jokes.

“Oh I’m sure they won’t, darling.” Freddie gives Roger a wicked grin, before he turns to follow John down the hallway. “No sex in communal living spaces!” he calls as he walks away, loud enough for all the neighbors to hear.

Shameless, Roger shouts back “No promises!”

After he shuts and locks the door behind them, he turns to see Brian rolling his eyes at him fondly. Roger grins, and then throws himself down onto the couch, half on top of Brian, hearing him breathe out a startled _‘oof.’_ Roger doesn’t give him much time to recover though, before he’s reaching up to curl a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

Brian makes a surprised sound into his mouth, but after a moment he kisses him back, sliding his hands down over the curve of his ass as Roger throws a leg over to straddle him properly.

“Eager,” Brian hums once Roger has moved down to his neck, kissing and nipping down the column of his throat.

“Excited,” Roger corrects, skimming a hand down Brian’s chest to his lap. He’s half hard under Roger’s hand, and Roger strokes him slowly through the thin material of his joggers.

Brian’s breath catches in his throat, but then he’s grabbing Roger’s wrist, suddenly, tutting. “Did I say you could touch baby?”

His voice is low, almost dangerous, and Roger barely suppresses a whine, letting Brian guide both of his hands behind his back, holding them together with long fingers wrapped around his wrists. “I’m sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t try overly hard to look apologetic as his stomach flips in excitement, heat pooling low between his hips.

Brian’s earlier timidness is gone, and he looks at Roger now with dark eyes, sure and self-assured. His eyes flick down to where Roger’s dick is straining against his joggers, and his smile is wicked when he says, “You’re already so worked up baby.”

Roger nods. He feels a little like he’s burning up just from Brian’s eyes on him, heavy, like Brian is seeing right through him. He shivers when the hand not around his wrists slides down his side and slips under the fabric of his shirt to rest low on his hip, thumbing over the skin just above his waistband. He wonders if Brian can feel his goosebumps.

“You can’t wait for it, can you Rog?” Brian says quietly, nosing along his jaw, “You can’t wait to be desperate for me, holding it until I say you can go, trying so hard to hold on. Isn’t that right love?”

Roger’s head tips to the side and his eyes flutter shut and this time he can’t hold back a whine. “Yes,” he breathes. Brian rewards him by pausing to suck at his throat, biting at his skin until Roger is sure he can feel a bruise forming, and he has to fight to keep his hips still.

“Maybe I’ll make you beg,” Brian muses. “I’ll wait until you’re so desperate you’re begging to use the toilet, only to have me tell you no time and time again until you just can’t wait anymore, until you’re begging me to let you piss yourself, just to get some relief.” His sharp teeth graze Roger’s ear. “Will you beg darling?”

Roger makes an embarrassingly needy sound, somewhere between a moan and whimper. “Yes.”

“I wonder if I’ll let you go at all,” Brian hums, nipping at the corner of his jaw. “Maybe I’ll make you hold it until you just can’t anymore, until you lose control and soak your clothes even when I tell you to wait. You’d like that, wouldn’t you baby? Making such a mess because you just can’t control yourself.”

_“Brian,”_ he gasps, and he can’t stop his hips from jerking forward, grinding against Brian’s. He hears the hitch of Brian’s breath in his ear and then Brian is catching his lips with his own, kissing him hard and messy. One of Brian’s hands is still holding his wrists back, but the other comes up now to hold his jaw tightly, angling him so that he can kiss him deeper, licking into the heat of his mouth, and Roger takes it, whimpering into it and letting himself be kissed. He’s breathing hard when Brian finally pulls away, his chest heaving, and he’s so hard it’s distracting.

“Come on,” Brian says suddenly, letting go of Roger’s wrists and then nudging at him a little.

Roger blinks slowly. “What?”

“Up.”

Roger frowns, but he shifts off of Brian’s lap, standing, letting Brian up. Brian brushes past him, and after a moment Roger follows, a few steps behind, his brow furrowed as Brian leads them to the kitchen.

He squeezes himself quickly through his joggers, just for a moment of relief. “So, are you just gonna…” He trails off as Brian takes a tall glass down from the cupboard, turning on the sink. He swallows heavily, watching wide-eyed as Brian waits for the water to cool before he fills the glass. He shuts off the tap and turns, water in hand, holding it out to Roger. 

“Drink.”

—

Time passes slowly then.

Roger had been made to get dressed after the first glass, because if there’s one thing Brian hates it’s lounging around all day in pyjamas. So he reluctantly showers— with very clear instructions _not_ to touch himself in there— and gets ready for the day, washing his face and moisturizing and using the peach-scented body lotion he knows Brian loves. He gets dressed while Brian is in the shower, almost stepping into a pair of sweats before he decides that if Brian gets to torture him all day, he deserves to be tortured at least a little in return.

He quickly finds the black lace panties— the new ones that he’d bought for Brian’s birthday— and steps into them, pairing them only with one of Brian’s shirts, a white button up which he leaves mostly open, barely done up. It’s way too big for him, hanging down nearly to his mid-thigh and slipping off one of his shoulders if he isn’t careful, but Brian always has a hard time controlling himself when Roger is wearing his clothes, and today is no exception. He does a double take when he walks into the living room to see Roger already curled up on the couch, barely dressed and smiling up at him sweetly, as if he’s unaware of what he’s doing. But despite his obvious hard on, Brian doesn’t say anything, simply handing Roger another glass of water and settling in beside him.

It’s an easy, lazy sort of day; a day that would be an entirely ordinary quiet Saturday if it weren’t for the nervous excitement constantly vibrating right below the surface of Roger’s skin, making him almost restless and decidedly half-hard as he thinks about what’s to come. His mind races through endless possibilities and outcomes and he almost wishes he knew what Brian had planned for him, but he quickly decides that the anticipation and uncertainty isn’t something he’d care to give up any time soon, especially when he feels the first slight flutters in his bladder.

The funny thing is that Brian actually treats it like any normal Saturday. They flick on a movie they’ve already seen countless times and Brian lets Roger kick his feet up into his lap as they relax into it. Roger messes around on his laptop, pulling up stupidest Buzzfeed quizzes he can find and taking turns doing them himself and then making Brian do them so he can compare their results (Brian insists that the fact that if they were potatoes he would be mashed and Roger would be scalloped doesn’t mean anything, but Roger isn’t so sure). After a while, Brian pulls out his guitar and plays around with some new riffs he’s been working on, and Roger listens, giving feedback when he’s asked (and sometimes when he isn’t asked). 

It feels almost entirely normal, except for when Brian gets up every so often and refills Roger’s water. Each time, Roger drinks it as quickly as he can without making himself feel ill while Brian pretends not to be paying attention, until a few hours later the slight tickle in his bladder has morphed into a sort of dull ache. It isn’t hard to ignore, not yet, but it still makes his stomach flip in excitement, makes his dick twitch in his panties.

Over time, the pressure builds to something more persistent, a little more difficult to ignore, and he’s finding it harder now to keep drinking. He almost wishes he’d worn something more comfortable, because now the waistband of his panties is pressing into his bladder, rather uncomfortably. But he doesn’t say anything; he drinks what Brian brings him and he lets his need grow until it’s almost distracting and he has to shift to keep the pressure off his bladder. He squirms as subtly as he can and he knows that Brian knows but he still doesn’t say anything— that is, until his bladder spasms, making him gasp at the suddenness of it, his hand flying down to squeeze his dick tightly in his fist. Once it’s passed and he’s sure he isn’t going to leak, he glances up at Brian.

Brian is watching him with dark eyes, his pupils blown, and he studies Roger the same way he would analyze data. Roger can see how hard he is, straining against his jeans, but when he speaks, his voice is low and even. “No touching.”

Roger’s eyes widen just a fraction and he immediately lets go of his himself. He swallows thickly. “Brian, I... um…”

Brian just looks at him, cocking an eyebrow expectantly. 

Roger feels his cheeks heat up as he says, quietly,“I really need to pee.”

Brian smirks, all pretty and sharp angles, and he reaches out to grasp Roger’s wrist, tugging until Roger gets the message and shuffles closer, sitting back on his knees on the couch facing him. Brian kisses him, just quickly, before he says, “I know baby. You’ve had to go for a while, haven’t you?”

Roger nods. “Can I… can I use the toilet Bri? Please? I really need to go…”

Brian smirk widens and he hums, like he’s considering it. “I don’t think so baby,” he says softly. “I don’t think you’ve earned that yet, do you?”

Roger almost moans at the surge of heat that rushes through him from being denied. He shakes his head.

“I know you can hold it longer for me, can’t you? My beautiful boy.”

Roger nods, and his bladder aches. “Yes, Bri.”

Brian’s smirk widens, and he kisses Roger again, like he can’t hold himself back. “That’s my good boy, Rog,” he murmurs, running a hand through Roger’s hair. “Let’s get you some more to drink, yeah?”

Roger isn’t quite quick enough to catch the whimper that spills from the back of his throat.

Something that looks almost like uncertainty flashes behind Brian’s eyes, just for half a second. “Colour?” he asks quietly.

“Green,” Roger says immediately.

Brian nods. “You’re doing so well, love,” he says, and Roger preens at the praise.

“Thank you,” he breathes, as Brian thumbs over his cheekbone.

“I’ll go get you some more water.”

—

Roger doesn’t think he’s ever had to piss this badly before in his life.

The waistband of his panties digs into his stomach and he whines, squirming again in Brian’s lap to try to take some of the pressure off his bladder. It feels like it’s been hours since the ache first became so insistent it was impossible to ignore, and it’s morphed now into a white-hot sort of pain that he can feel in his toes, in the tensing of his shoulders and the shaking of his hands where he digs his nails into Brian’s shoulders.

They’ve moved to the bed now, Brian sitting up against the headboard with Roger perched in his lap, a knee on either side of one of Brian’s thighs. Brian’s hands are warm and gentle on Roger’s skin, steadying him with a hold on his hips while as kisses along Roger’s collarbone and up the side of his neck.

The pressure builds again, and without thinking Roger’s hands are flying to his crotch, giving himself a hard squeeze. He barely has time to register the relief though, before Brian tuts slowly and Roger’s eyes go wide. One of Brian’s large hands take him by the wrists, and Roger whines when he lets himself go, but he doesn’t protest when Brian pins his wrists behind his own back.

“You know the rules, baby,” Brian murmurs, holding Roger’s wrists together with enough force they’ll surely bruise. He noses along Roger’s jaw, nips the corner lightly. “Don’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” Roger breathes. His head tips to the side and the wet heat of Brian’s mouth on that spot just below his jaw makes him shiver. “I won’t do it again, I promise, I— I’ll be good, I swear.”

Something dark flickers behind Brian’s eyes as he studies him, takes in Roger’s flushed skin and his dark eyes, his kiss-bitten lips. “No touching,” he reminds him finally, before he lets go of Roger’s wrists, lets Roger settle his hands on the back of his neck again and pull him in.

Roger kisses him deeply, his hips rocking slowly against Brian’s thigh as Brian nips at his lower lip, as his tongue delves into his mouth.

Then that white-hot sort of pain is shooting through him again, stronger than before, and Roger whimpers into Brian’s mouth, pressing his cock hard against Brian’s thigh. The pressure helps, but not enough. He pulls back and squeezes his eyes closed, presses his forehead against Brian’s and wills the urge to pass. Once it has, his shoulders relax the smallest bit and he sighs shakily. Brian’s warm breath fans over his face. “Bri…” he breathes.

Brian’s hands feel huge where they rest low on his hips, sure and steady as they hold him close, thumbing slowly over his hip bones, just above the waistline of his panties. “You can hold it sweetheart,” Brian tells him, his voice gentle but firm.

Another urge washes over him, and a sound he’s not sure he’s ever made before comes from somewhere in the back of his throat, a pathetic whimper of a thing. One of Brian’s hands comes up to tuck his sweaty hair back behind his ear, trailing down to cup his jaw and thumb over his cheekbone. Brian’s eyes are soft and kind.

“Is it too much?” he asks softly.

Roger shakes his head quickly. “No,” he says. “_God_ no.”

And it isn’t— even as the pain shoots through him and makes him gasp and whine, it also kind of makes him shake with how good it feels, makes him shudder with the intensity of the heat that pools inside him somewhere lower than his bladder.

“Sure?” Brian asks. “Colour?”

“Green,” Roger says immediately. “It’s good— it’s really good. Just… hurts. I really need to pee.” It comes out as a whimper, and he’d be embarrassed if he could think about anything other than how badly he needs to piss. 

Brian pulls him closer by the small of his back, holding him there and helping Roger rock against him. Roger drops his head onto Brian’s shoulder again, and he feels Brian’s lips, chaste and soft on the skin of his shoulder where his shirt has slipped down. “I know, baby,” Brian murmurs against his sweaty skin as Roger whines. “You’re doing so well. God, Rog, look at you. Look how good you are for me love.”

Roger lets out a shaky breath. “Please Bri, please I… please let me go.”

Brian hums, squeezing his hip. “I don’t think so love,” he says, voice low and syrupy. “You can hold it a little longer.” 

Roger whimpers and the need swells in him, licks up his spine like flame, and he desperately wishes he could squeeze his legs together, could take his cock in his hand and give himself the pressure he desperately needs. This time, the pressure in his bladder doesn’t ebb away after a few moments, and every muscle in Roger’s body is so tense he aches as he tries to keep from losing it. He doesn’t realize that Brian’s hand has stopped rubbing slow circles on his hip, doesn’t notice that the hand is gone entirely until he feels long fingers ghosting over the fabric of his shirt, right over his stomach, not quite brushing his skin but so close it makes Roger jerk back in an effort to get Brian’s hand as far away from his bladder as he can. Brian holds him in place easily, his other hand still steady on the small of his back.

“C’mon, Rog,” Brian says softly, his fingertips trailing over Roger’s stomach. “You can be good for me, right darling? My beautiful boy.”

Brian’s hand settles over his bladder then, resting over the gentle curve of his lower stomach. Brian sucks in a breath, and he sounds hoarse when he says, “_Fuck,_ it’s _hard._ You must be so full, sweetheart.”

Roger nods frantically into Brian’s neck. Brian hums against his ear, and then Roger feels his fingertips pressing a little harder, and he tenses nearly every muscle in his body, feeling the pressure swell and _shit,_ he leaked.

It’s not a lot, in fact it doesn’t even begin to take the edge off, but he still feels the warmth against the tip of his dick, the tiny splash of wetness against his panties, and when he forces his eyes open, there’s a spot where the lace is just a shade darker than the rest.

Brian knows right away— of course he does. 

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs. His thumb rubs slowly over the skin of Roger’s waist, an action that would be comforting if his other hand wasn’t resting solidly over his bladder now, pressing more insistently, making him shake. Roger feels another burst of warmth around his cock. “I know you can do better than that.”

_“Brian,”_ Roger gasps. It’s harder, now, to stop the leaks. Every press of Brian’s fingertips to his bladder, every dull drag of his nails over the swell of his lower stomach makes him whimper and shake, and he can’t hold back the tiny splashes of piss that wet his panties, turning them warm and wet until he’s sure that if he felt them they would be soaked.

Distantly, he hears Brian curse under his breath, and then his hand, the one not on Roger’s bladder, is tangling in his hair and tugging him up to kiss him hard. Brian kisses him wet and sloppy and messy, angles him with the grip on his hair so he can kiss him so deeply it makes Roger’s toes curl, like Brian can’t get enough of it, like Brian can’t get him close enough. Brian sucks on his tongue and tugs at his lower lip and Roger gets lost in it. Roger gets lost in it and he doesn’t notice Brian’s hand settling heavier over his bladder until it’s too late, until Brian is pressing down, none too gently.

Roger gasps against his mouth and he pulls back with a curse as his control slips. Warmth floods his cock, runs down Brian’s thigh and onto the bedsheets, and Roger tenses nearly every muscle in his body and grinds frantically against Brian’s thigh until he manages to get it back under control, if only barely. 

“Hold it, Rog,” Brian says; a command, spoken lowly and without room for argument. His hand is a heavy weight over Roger’s bladder, bearing down on him and making him whimper. 

That white-hot sort of pain shoots through him again, and he’s distantly aware of how soaked Brian’s jeans are where he rocks against him. “Brian,” he says, and it comes out high and breathless. “Please Bri, I don’t know how long I can— shit, _please._”

Brian shushes him, presses his lips to the sweaty skin of his neck, trails them up to his jaw. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re so good for me, baby. You look so pretty like this, god you drive me fucking insane. My good boy.”

Roger whines, and his hands shake even when he digs his nails into Brian’s shoulders. _“Hurts,”_ he whines, and Brian shushes him again.

“I know baby,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to Roger’s temple. “You’re doing such a good job. Just a little longer, yeah?”

He presses harder on Roger’s bladder and Roger’s hips jerk as he feels the inevitable warmth around his cock, soaking into his panties and Brian’s jeans and the bedsheets under his knees. He barely hears Brian’s soothing voice in his ear, barely notices the gentle hand on his waist. “I _can’t,_” he whimpers, and it comes out so soft he’s almost surprised that Brian hears him. 

“You can,” Brian says insistently. He noses at his jaw, starts to suck a mark into the side of his throat, and Roger shakes in his arms. The pressure is overwhelming, swelling in him and filling his chest with need, spreading from his head down to his fingers and his toes and he can’t he can’t he _can’t—_

Suddenly, he feels another burst of warmth around his cock, and he realizes with a start that this time— _shit_— he can’t stop.

It’s slow, a small stream that trickles through his panties, slowly soaking into Brian’s jeans and spilling onto the bedsheets, only this time he can’t cut it off no matter how hard he tenses, no matter how much he curses and grinds his cock frantically against Brian’s thigh. 

“Hold it,” Brian says quietly. He’s rubbing slow circles into Roger’s bladder and Roger pants and gasps into his neck, digging his nails into the back of Brian’s neck so hard he knows he’ll leave marks. It’s still painfully slow, so much so that Roger barely feels it, but it _won’t_ stop.

“Hold it, Rog,” Brian says again, and his hand never stops its movements over Roger’s bladder, pressing harder and tearing a dry sob from somewhere in Roger’s chest.

He can feel his control slipping as the pressure builds, and he feels almost deliriously hot as he gasps and whines and tries desperately to hold on, even when he feels how close it is to happening. The pressure swells and Roger trembles, shaking his head frantically into Brian’s neck and begging _“No no no no please no—”_

And then the wave crests, crashes into him, and the last of his control slips away. 

He moans, strangled and high, as his bladder gives out and he pisses himself, warm wetness soaking Brian’s thigh and his lap and splashing onto the sheets below them. It wets the bottom of Roger’s shirt where it hangs too low and streams down the insides of his thighs, seeping into the bedsheets, and Roger whines as he soaks them with it, still rocking slowly against Brian's thigh. Brian’s hand is still massaging his bladder, pressing in and making Roger jerk in his arms as he pisses all over them both. It’s _loud,_ hissing as it leaves him and splashing onto the sheets.

“Look at you,” Brian murmurs, and the hand on his bladder slides down to settle over his crotch, long, slender fingers cupping him through his panties, squeezing his cock gently as he pisses himself. “You’re making such a mess.” 

Another sob is torn from somewhere deep in Roger’s chest and he shakes with it, everything in him flushed and burning hot. Heat coils somewhere low between his hips and makes the back of his neck prickle, something deep and feral and _needy_ clawing its way out of the pit of his stomach as the relief overwhelms him. His piss streams through Brian’s fingers, soaking his hand, and it’s almost dizzying how quickly that makes the blood rush to his cock.

He can’t help the roll of his hips, pushing his cock more firmly into Brian’s palm, and he gasps as Brian’s hand— the clean one— suddenly grips him by his hair and tugs him up roughly so Brian can speak quietly against his ear, letting him feel the heat of his breath as he murmurs “Christ, you’re so beautiful like this.” Sharp teeth graze Roger’s earlobe, and he can feel how hard Brian is against his knee. “My pretty baby. You’re doing so well.”

Brian palms him slowly through his soaked panties as Roger’s stream finally slows to a stop. All in all, the whole ordeal only lasts about forty seconds, but it seems like it’s been a lifetime when Brian nips along his collarbone, presses his lips to his throat. 

“Look at you,” Brian croons, “So hard already.” His pupils are blown when Roger finally meets his eyes, still shaky and panting in Brian’s lap as the hand in his hair tugs gently and draws a high and pitiful noise from the back of his throat. “You love this don’t you?” Brian continues quietly. “You love it when you lose control, you love making a mess of yourself, of me. Ruining our nice sheets.”

Roger moans, high and breathy and embarrassingly needy as Brian licks up his neck, sinks his teeth into the spot below the corner of his jaw hard enough to sting and sets to work sucking a bruise that will be impossible to hide for at least a week. “God, you’re so beautiful like this,” Brian breathes when he pulls away, apparently satisfied with the mark he’s left. “My good boy. God, you drive me fucking insane.” 

“Bri,” Roger breathes, finally, and that hot, hungry thing deep in the pit of his stomach claws its way into his chest, seeps out to fill everywhere from his head to his toes with a frenzied sort of need that makes his hands shake.

The hand that’s tangled in Roger’s hair slips down to hold his jaw then, and Brian’s eyes are dark as he drinks in the sight of Roger with his mussed hair and his deep flush, wet lashes and heavy-lidded eyes. He makes a low sound, but before he can say anything Roger is pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him hard and deep and so thorough, and Brian’s wet hand settles over his ass and pulls him closer.

“Need you to fuck me,” Roger breathes against his lips. It comes out demanding, but when he meets Brian’s eyes, he’s almost sure the look he gives him is more pleading and desperate than anything else. “Please.”

Brian groans low in his throat, and he doesn’t need any convincing before he’s pushing Roger off his lap and flipping them, settling over him and pressing him into the mattress. The mood has shifted now to something desperate and needy and almost frantic, and Roger’s hands immediately go for Brian’s jeans, fumbling with the button until Brian gets impatient and steps off the bed to peel them off himself. He curses as they cling to his damp legs, and Roger’s stomach flips as he laughs breathlessly. He can feel the wetness of the sheets under him soaking into his shirt, and his shaking hands scramble to get the rest of his buttons undone.

“Leave it on,” Brian says suddenly, settling on the bed between Roger’s legs once more.

Roger blinks up at him. “It’s all wet.”

“I know.”

Roger swallows. He lets go of the shirt, leaves it half-open with only the middle button done and reaches instead for the lube in the bedside locker as Brian tugs his own shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. Brian’s gives him a wicked smirk then, all dark eyes and sharp teeth as his fingers hook in the waistband of Roger’s soaked panties, and Roger’s cheeks are hot as he lifts his hips and lets Brian shimmy them off, tossing them in the same direction as his shirt.

Brian sits back on his knees then for a moment, drinking in the sight of Roger with his messy hair, the deep flush creeping down his neck and his chest, his cock red and leaking against his stomach, his damp legs and the wet sheets underneath him. “Look at the mess you made…” he murmurs, almost in awe, and the whine Roger lets out is high and needy as his hand goes to Brian’s waist, pulling him down on top of him.

Brian opens him up fast and messy. He has sinfully long fingers, and they stretch Roger open with practiced ease, working him up to two and then three quickly but still so incredibly thorough, searching out places in him that make him gasp and writhe until he’s panting, digging his nails into Brian’s shoulders, impatiently begging him to get on with it already.

When Brian finally pushes in, slowly, Roger’s head tips back and he lets out a filthy groan, one leg curled over Brian’s hip and the other bent and pressed to his chest. Roger loves to be fucked, loves to be held down and made to take it, and he relishes now in Brian’s solid weight on top of him, the bruising grip on the back of his thigh where Brian presses his knee to his chest and angles him just the way he wants him.

When Brian bottoms out, Roger presses a hand to his shoulder, breathing heavily through his nose with his eyes squeezed shut as he waits for the pinch to give way to the more pleasant sort of burn that comes after. Brian’s lips are warm against his cheek and his temple and the corner of his mouth, pressing soft kisses to his skin as he waits, and it isn’t long before Roger is tightening his leg around Brian’s hip and muttering, “C’mon.”

Brian buries his face in Roger’s neck and fucks him like he’s got something to prove. He bites and sucks at Roger’s skin, pulling these awful, high moans from him, and Roger’s hand tangles in his curls as he sucks a bruise into the column of his throat, his other hand scratching desperately at Brian’s back as he scrambles for something to hold onto.

Brian fucks him like he needs to be fucked, hard and fast and thorough, and Roger moans so loud and obscene he’s sure half the building can hear him, but when Brian angles his hips in just the right way to make him see stars, he finds that he doesn’t quite care. He knows he’s babbling, distantly aware of the choked curses and moans of Brian’s name that are tumbling from his lips nearly constantly, until Brian pulls back and curls one hand around his throat, squeezing just tightly enough to make his vision blur around the edges and cut him off. 

He feels almost deliriously hot, sticky with sweat and with piss, his shirt and their bedsheets wet under his back. He feels like he’s burning alive in the best way possible, and he throws his head back against the pillows, curling a hand around Brian’s wrist and arching up off the mattress, nails scratching up Brian’s back and over his shoulder blades as he clings to him. Brian is panting against his skin, gasping out praise that makes Roger’s dick twitch and leak onto the softness of his lower stomach, and the hand not on Brian’s wrist goes to the back of his neck and pulls him into a kiss.

The heat is building between his hips, licking up his spine, and he whines into Brian’s mouth as he snakes a hand down between their bodies to curl it around his cock, stroking himself quickly. Brian’s rhythm is beginning to falter as he pulls back to press his forehead to Roger’s. “C’mon, Rog,” he breathes. “Wanna hear you darling. Always sound so pretty for me.”

The tension snaps and Roger arches off the bed as he comes so hard he sees white, and the moan that’s torn from his throat is high and choked. It’s only a moment later that Brian goes still, coming so deep inside him with a loud groan, before he drops his head onto Rogers chest as he pants, trying to catch his breath.

Roger shakes as he comes down from it, even as Brian pulls out and collapses beside him on the bed. He takes in large breaths of air as his heart rate slowly returns to normal and he thinks maybe he feels better than he’s ever felt in his life— boneless and sated and blissed out, still damp with it, Brian’s warmth at his side.

Brian is the first to speak.

“Holy shit.”

Roger laughs, a little breathlessly. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I mean, shit that was… fucking christ.”

It’s Brian’s turn to laugh, and Roger has finally gathered the energy now to turn on his side and slide a hand up to hold Brian’s jaw, kissing him sweetly.

“Thank you,” he says once he’s pulled away. “That was… bloody incredible.”

Brian snorts. “I feel like I should be thanking you,” he says. “I think that was the best idea you’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever, actually.”

Roger laughs again, and the grin Brian fixes him with is crooked, easy and relaxed, and it makes Roger’s heart swell almost painfully. When Brian pulls him in again, Roger smiles against his lips.

“We should probably get cleaned up,” Brian says finally, once he’s pulled away, brushing Roger’s damp hair back from his face.

Roger groans. “Or we could go to sleep,” he suggests, even as he feels Brian’s come between his legs and the dampness on his skin cooling rather uncomfortably.

Brian laughs softly. “_Or_ we could get cleaned up,” he says.

Roger sighs heavily. Brian is right— _obviously_— but still, moving feels like the last thing he wants to do at the moment. “I suppose,” he gives in finally.

Brian kisses him again softly before hauling himself out of bed and standing on still slightly shaky legs. He turns to Roger and sees him still laid out on the bed, now with his arms extended towards him. “Carry me?”

Brian rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, soft and fond, and Roger grins as Brian lifts him from the bed, carrying him down to the loo and starting the tub. Brian leaves only for a few moments to change the sheets, and Roger settles into the warm water, relaxing into it. A moment later Brian joins him, waiting for Roger to scoot forward so he can step into the tub and settle behind him, his legs on either side of Roger’s. Roger sighs as he leans back against him, his eyes closing as he feels Brian’s chin come to rest on his shoulder, long arms wrapping around his middle as he presses his lips to Roger’s cheek.

“Love you,” Roger says after a moment, just because he can.

Brian’s arms tighten around him as he hugs him closer. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> i have absolutely nothing to say for myself except for that i'm gross and i’m sorry
> 
> follow my tumblr starrydrowse for even more awful content or if u wanna talk abt brian and roger's piss kink ok goodbye thank u for reading ilu!!


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